The Flickr Poemsandpoets Image Generatr

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This page simply reformats the Flickr public Atom feed for purposes of finding inspiration through random exploration. These images are not being copied or stored in any way by this website, nor are any links to them or any metadata about them. All images are © their owners unless otherwise specified.

This site is a busybee project and is supported by the generosity of viewers like you.

Ice Trees of the Pennyrile Forest by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Ice Trees of the Pennyrile Forest

What Good Are Trees

What good are trees,
If I miss the heart that spun the seed,
That dreamed the dream,
That danced nuclear in first fiery moments,
Before colors collided on patterns woven in atomic autumns
And stardust stellar stadiums of wintry dawns-

When moons rose only on waters that stilled the night,
Reflecting the light that ended eras,
That moved the mountains,
Before the oceans swept canyons clean of crust
And prepared tables for grasses to grow?

What good are wings,
If wonder does not take flight,
In wild woods bearing the breath of winds,
That hang cloud soft in southern summers,
Where soaring birds draft
Towering tides of unseen waves
Riding currents, swirling in springs of hope,
Hidden in hills, that no one knows?

What good is hope
That shares nothing in conception,
And wonders without warm witness in cold stolen hours,
Longing in lonely moments, that come only once,
Heave hot and holy breath for seconds,
Then pass without planting or gathering
From the soil of life and the strength of tears
That know the awe of this moment’s birth.

J.H. Watkins 01-09

Winter Blue Mtns Nevada by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Winter Blue Mtns Nevada

Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-
pillars standing tall-
piercing passioned histories-
hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-
caverns large and small-
mutant molten metal streams-
fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-
cooling chasmed halls-
dinosaurs and diamond doors
in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices
in paradisian sprawl-
fiery fumes of purity-
creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,
soiled, synthetic signs.
righteous restoration
of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-
tempestuous-
waning, wasted pearl-
forethought, full and fragile-
foundation of the world.

hidden in the language
of nature’s cresting yore-
cracked beneath
the stress and strain-
crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-
wiggling in the storm-
recipes and remedies-
chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-
brooding-steaming-scorn-
clashing reams of violent schemes-
valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,
scrambled eggs at last-
gushing geysered marbled mud
borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,
syncopated scuds-
bothered by the missing mass-
baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-
the barn is nearly full-
the hay is neatly in a stack-
the baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,
full circle’s come at last.
see the story in the hills-
yield before your past.

something’s broken,
something’s missing,
something’s come and gone-
something’s at the doorway-
someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-
someone’s on the floor-
someone’s grass
is full of gas-
classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,
balancing the board-
signals of a sequenced strike,
calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,
when looking at the past.
the scene is somewhat circular,
when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,
dance before your lord.
the gift of grace is growing cold
squirming on sword.

commentaried cavemen,
come into the fold.
your ears can hear-
your eyes can see-
so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-
to knowledge held in store.
fashioned in the faceless stone
of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,
the battle rages on-
raving reverence in reverse
its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-
the courtroom is restored,
through judgment passed,
the script is cast,
in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-
your statement’s on the floor-
and advertise what you surmise-
from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-
and touched your maker’s hand,
in timeless thought-
before the fault-
and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-
from eons vile and vast-
to bless-ed end
the future bends,
with glory
unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

Inland Waterway November Moonrise by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Inland Waterway November Moonrise

The Brightness of Our Childhood (James Watkins)

The brightness of our childhood
is not completely spent-
but stirs again in drifting dreams-
restless and intense.

Rushing upward, out beyond
the envelope of time-
fueled by futures unfulfilled-
destined and divine.

Gloried, glazing glances-
of eternity-
identified by inward guide
sanctified and free.

Einstein has passed beyond
with pieces of the plan.
He bent the chart,
but missed the heart-
to greener grass he ran.

Organized and energized,
he answered aimlessly-
Beyond pure thought,
the artist wrought-
to answer flawlessly.

Explain the beauty of a lake,
or calling of the sea-
the lonely lover, or the lost-
explain these things to me.

Explain the hurting for a friend-
or mother's mournful cry-
the blazing host of stars that sing-
or the moment that we die.

Explain forever, or forgiveness-
explain both wrong and right-
or nature's curse,
the cause rehease-
an answer would be nice.

Or loose the light of childhood-
a flame still burning bright-
consuming fire of destiny-
devouring darkened night.

Return to heights heroic-
be partial in your place-
uniquely primed,
by grace designed,
to answer
with your faith.

James Watkins 03-05

Lighthouse On A sPacific Hill by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Lighthouse On A sPacific Hill

The Brightness of Our Childhood (James Watkins)

The brightness of our childhood
is not completely spent-
but stirs again in drifting dreams-
restless and intense.

Rushing upward, out beyond
the envelope of time-
fueled by futures unfulfilled-
destined and divine.

Gloried, glazing glances-
of eternity-
identified by inward guide
sanctified and free.

Einstein has passed beyond
with pieces of the plan.
He bent the chart,
but missed the heart-
to greener grass he ran.

Organized and energized,
he answered aimlessly-
Beyond pure thought,
the artist wrought-
to answer flawlessly.

Explain the beauty of a lake,
or calling of the sea-
the lonely lover, or the lost-
explain these things to me.

Explain the hurting for a friend-
or mother's mournful cry-
the blazing host of stars that sing-
or the moment that we die.

Explain forever, or forgiveness-
explain both wrong and right-
or nature's curse,
the cause rehease-
an answer would be nice.

Or loose the light of childhood-
a flame still burning bright-
consuming fire of destiny-
devouring darkened night.

Return to heights heroic-
be partial in your place-
uniquely primed,
by grace designed,
to answer
with your faith.

James Watkins 03-05

Ice Trees in Pennyrile Forest by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Ice Trees in Pennyrile Forest

Better Large-Driving through Kentucky we were mezmerized with the beautiful ice patterns in the trees. Some looked like diamonds in the sun, while others were organized legions of light in the branches. Between the sun reflecting off of the frozen fields and the ice trees, we were observerers in the right place at the right time once again. 0006-1012

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

DOORWAYS (JHWatkins)

Our lives are spent near doorways,
Corridors between heaven and earth-
Mechanisms of the spirit-
Power grids with junctions-
On the borders of decisions-
And destiny generations.

Many have sensed them,
Watched and known
Channels of change,
Releasing forces,
That seasons have sown
Since the beginning-
Leaving footsteps to follow.

Some found them
Under redwood cathedrals,
Soft canopy mists,
Where winter rains washed
The soul survivors,
That could not have grown
Until they had gone
To sing in arenas of angels.

Others surprised the morning,
Resisting by rolling waters,
Speaking to dawn stars,
Bidding the night adieu-
Where the quiet
Was louder than the roaring future,
And, left with one clean choice,
Lit a fuse
That started a fire-
And changed the world.

James Watkins

The Falls and Lights BW by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

The Falls and Lights BW

Better Large-Niagara Falls is an American spectacle and historical treasure seen well at night under revolving colored lights. Its detail and contrast at night make it a prime candidate for monotone. The spray is hypnotical and mystical. This is the American Falls...you can see the Canadian Falls in the upper right corner...just as beautiful! 0018

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

A poem of myself (So far) (James watkins)

I was shot from a gun,
chased by time
past pig, pain portals-
beyond blood battered walls,
whetted, washed, and wondering.

My stars burning,
growing in love’s lucid light,
nursed and nutured in stone-
flooded and flowering
in bare…
bright dreams.

Childhood
floated down driveways,
fell sweet from scented,
hidden lookout trees-
bicycles for breakfast-
mothers, brothers,
and families for free.

Secured by father,
knee deep in friends,
i ran -hair on fire-
blazed in brightness-
weekend wild-
bludgeoned by desires-
and tendered by traps
and crimes.

In storms i slew myself-
jumped solid ship into timeless sea,
filled the ancient heart longing,
healed the word wounded warrior
of the soul.

Made peace with time,
sucked fullness of day and night,
walked in smoldering suns,
swam clear deep streams-
and sang the song of songs!

Torched by bridges,
burning face first
into new dawn,
came full round the sun circle-
armed with nuclear wings-
violently flighted,
fast falling forward-
to fathom beginning and ending
of all things.

And ride the flood waters
of opening plains-
with multiplied words
of tortured kings-
resting, completed, tempered, and full-
in fallen disguise of my destiny.

James watkins 4-2007

Sun and Ice Pennyrile Forest by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Sun and Ice Pennyrile Forest

Better Large- Pennyrile Forest runs from the Lakes of Kentucky, southwest to northeast heading across the state to Indiana.Traveling this road many times we would never expect the winter beauty we witnessed with the diamond trees and reflective ocean of frozen snow on the open fields. It would've taken days to stop and photograph the varieties of wonder. 0008

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Remember This (James Watkins)

Remember this-
cold December's morning-
(beauty- without warming-)
cold reflective stream.

Remember this-
violent red waiting,
day-glow by the window,
silent-
evergreen.

The sun steps up to
start its daily song,
As quietness inside says,
take one step-
alone.

Build your golden dreams-
on visions,
tarried long-
wronged by waiting hours-
long-lived, doubt delayed.
Join the journey homeward,
turn back to yesterday.

Take one step- face tomorrow-
look it in the eye-
take it on.
Forever waits at daybreak,
shines suddenly like the dawn.

Memories rise from roads never taken.
Faces from forgotten pasts,
dare to dream the dream
and not be shaken,
dare to touch the fire at last.

Heart speaks to heart,
spirit to spirit,
stand strong faced
to meet the day-
we will walk,
in paths less taken-
secret signs
to guide the way.

Hope hung highways,
misted mountains-
running dry,
bereft of snow.
We will fly
in unknown places,
we will burn
and not grow cold.

Golden sunrise,
brazen morning,
dancing darkness,
falling free-
singing high
with hidden voices-
waking worlds
where shadows flee.

Lengthening light,
long remember,
one who comes
will rule by day!
Come fallen fliers-
torn asunder-
come and rest,
from restless waves.

Sleep your peaceful sleep
you souls arrested,
bright blue morning-
birds ablaze-
strike out new,
to touch the heavens-
stand strong now,
you heavy hearts-
amazed.

James Watkins 03-04

Olympic NP Through Lake Cushman Gap by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Olympic NP Through Lake Cushman Gap

Better Large. This is looking West over Lake Cushman toward the Olympic National Park mountains. Although the lake is low until summertime, it has beautiful color and shape-surrounded by mountains and looking through to a snow-capped mountain through the gap. The rain, sunlight, and clouds are an added bonus here to help feather the light a little. Shot through consistent raindrops! In this area you better shoot fast...it rains constantly. As mentioned before, this is in one of the few (if not only) northern latitude rain forests in the world. A special place...in a huge area...with endless photo ops!

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Reflections On A Question Not Asked (JHWatkins)

I would not worship nature,
but
watch the firestorms
of evening Eden’s
colliding with collars of stars,
bordering the spreading blankets...
flowing......floating on mist.

Here deep spells
speak to rising hearts
of early years... tears...
and beginnings,
failed then
flourishing
in fading light.

Many the meetings in mirrors,
Reflection souls,
Broken and healed,
Sing out, having heard the cry
Wishing, then wondering-
Then washed by
colors of the night.

I would not worship nature
but cry quietly at
whispers of deep dreamy forests
drumming with wooden warmth
lost in caverns,
ascending in autumns,
forsaken in fragments
and
flames of the glowing day.

Come now,
softer than nature,
with wounded revelations,
Waves of somber subtle summers,
winters, and springs-
Come straighter and stronger,
on strict lines of deft decisions
resting by quietest waters
of heart streams
that have come home
to the
fountain of the universe.

James Watkins 12-31-08

Bull Creek #8 Rainbow Teebox at Sunset by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Bull Creek #8 Rainbow Teebox at Sunset

Better Large-As I stood on the 8th hole/East Course at Bull Creek in Columbus, Ga, I just happened to turn around and look back at the tee box and saw this beautiful rainbow right over the area where I hit my tee shot. Of course, I took it as a sign that I was at the right place at the right time and doing exactly what I was suppose to be doing! This was very late in the evening, about 7PM I think and shortly before this it was misting rain after about a week of 95F and high humidity. The mist was just hovering lightly in the air and barely falling to the ground. I have really never seen anything quite like it. You can see it just to the left of the rainbow if you look closely. This mist and rainbow preceded a much welcomed cool down the next day as highs plummeted to 88F :} ! A lot of strange but wonderful things have happened to me on the golf course! Taken with a DroidX2...nice camera!

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Keeping The Colors Of Light I Saw (JHWatkins)

Keeping the colors of light I saw,
Hidden deep in my heart-
Here, chambered in silence they grow-
Where, watered by time they flow,
To places concealed at the start.

Each shade, a life of its own,
Gathering force like the wind,
Bursting with promise
And purpose renewed,
In heavenly dreams they ascend.

Returning to sources of similar schemes,
Gliding down currents of circular themes,
Reveried ideas of wondrous things,
Calling me now to attend.

Revelation perpetually rose,
From comical cracks and poetry prose,
Fractured infighting,
Formidable foes,
Deceived by games they portend.

Up through atmospheres,
Right through the stars,
Backed-down multitudes,
Battered and scarred-
Groaning, condoning,
Conditions bizarre,
Where correctional forces contend.

Keeping the colors of light I saw-
Hidden deep in my heart-
Here, chambered in silence they grow-
Shaping the future with wisdom I know,
In places concealed from the start.

J.H.Watkins 01/10/10

Lake Cushman Sunset by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Lake Cushman Sunset

Better Large. This is taken in one of the most beautiful and unique places I have been, the Olympic National Forest and Park is in the NW corner of Washington state. It is part of a rain forest that exist in upper latitudes in only a few places in the world. Here we are just on the edge of the secondary growth. Lake Cushman is beautiful any time, but with the water low, it provides a foreground for lakes, mountain vistas, and sunsets. Hopefully we will get to the coastal area next time with the primary rain forest and coastal vistas that make the area a prime spot for photography.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

What Good Are Trees (J.H. Watkins)

What good are trees,
If I miss the heart that spun the seed,
That dreamed the dream,
That danced nuclear in first fiery moments,
Before colors collided on patterns woven in atomic autumns
And stardust stellar stadiums of wintry dawns-

When moons rose only on waters that stilled the night,
That reflected the light that ended eras,
That moved the mountains,
Before the oceans swept canyons clean of crust
And prepared tables for grasses to grow?

What good are wings,
If wonder does not take flight,
While wild woods bear the broken breath of winds,
That hang soft in southern summers,
Where soaring birds draft
Towering tides of unseen waves
Riding currents, swirling in springs of hope,
Hidden in hills, that no one knows?

What good is hope
That shares nothing in conception,
And wonders without warm witness in cold stolen hours,
Longing in lonely moments, that come only once,
Heave hot and holy breath for seconds,
Then pass without planting or gathering
From the soil of life and the strength of tears
That know the awe of this moment’s birth.

J.H. Watkins 01-09

Marathon Water and Light by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Marathon Water and Light

BETTER LARGE. A stark and beautiful contrast in color pallet for this shot from the beach in Marathon, Florida (The Keys). This clear water is typical of the beaches around the keys.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

A NEW DAY (JHWatkins)

A new day begins-
Earthbound-
Ethereal-
Flying around.

Unseen mists of morning-
Open ocean green,
Blue spouted spray queens in
Darkened emerald dreams.

Violent moodiness of
Ancient ocean floors-
Standing silent-
Stopped-
By solid sentinel gray doors.

Open your ears and hear
The ancient song-
We are a breath, one whisper
Then gone.

Gray white clouds in
Measured morning light,
Stretch forth ghostly hands
To distant horizon heights.

Flowing sands,
Rich soft pillows rising,
Foam waters rolled-
Reflectioned sweet-
Blessings stormy,
And daggered deep.

Footpaths fallen-
Though carefully called-
Lie brooding-
Waiting-
Silently enthralled.

Come,
Full-birthed,
Appearing quickly
Thing of ancient beauty-
Aging stars of light-
Bright brilliant singing,
Resisting evil night.

Bring your watchers
High and steep-
Strong on hidden walls,
Soft from winters sleep.

Unchained mystic music-
Mighty opening keys-
Darkened dormant dominions-
Breath of living wings.

Blown now by fire,
Frenzied furnace hot-
Desperate with desire,
Of beauty that is not.

Frozen mountain stars-
Regal, reigning,
Galaxies unfurled.
Swirling, dancing destinies-
On anxious alien worlds.

Future hope through
Eyes that can not see-
Guarded pathways of
Mundaned revelry.

Massive mountain darkness,
Night mystery and pearl,
Deadly wicked wonders,
No heavenly theme imperiled.

Dying dreams-
Sprung to life-
Soon escaped-
From winters white.

Ephemeral future-
Celestially veiled,
Tossed and lifeless,
Embattled and assailed.

Come forth now,
By seasons force,
To plans of old-
Now lend your voice.

Creation sounds,
That groan and sway,
Walking free forever-
With joy,
For one more,
Glorious
Day.

James Watkins 4/04

Grand Canyon Sunset Spires by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Grand Canyon Sunset Spires

Update of sunset spires on Colorado River. This has been denoised and simplified, plus haze removed.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

STANDING ON THE PRECIPICE

Standing on the precipice,
Balanced at junctions,
Space and time-
There are no excuses here,
No explanations or rhymes.

Locked in lavish rhythm,
Far beyond the brink,
Hid from help or rescue,
On jagged edge distinct.

Weighty voices,
Tomorrows bearing,
Form forces by the day…
Wound tight
In folds of failure,
By faltering historic foray.

Naked standing truth,
Whirl winded and filleted,
Open now,
Body bleeding,
Clean by choice,
Ruthless rights parlayed.

Ring round the
Restless righteous,
Tormented tongues
Twisted and advanced-
Weapons trained,
Fitting filled,
Hopelessness entranced.

New toys
For large little boys,
Clicking clocks
In finest fashion.
Positioned perspective plus
Poisoned possessive power,
From places unimagined.

Whining women,
Worn-out white wheezers,
Talking days on end,
Tortured trials
Of wasted words,
Useless air
Precious spent.

Children torn
Apart at seams,
Families drugged
And drenched…
Callous toned nightmares
Running wild,
Seeds scattered in the wind.

Lost by generation’s
Darkened doubt,
Aflame the fearless world,
Tossed aside in hellish schemes,
Now rampant,
Flags unfurled.

Gone the green
And yearning years,
Foundations fairly laid,
Of priceless pearl
In wisdom grown,
Crown jewelry
On parade.

But new
The turning earth begins,
Choice
Once again delayed.
Come cold and calm
Courageous men-
Run boldly to
Your fate.

And stand in
Earnest errand bare,
An era
At the end,
To bind yourselves
Betrothed and braced,
To finish
Without fear.

James Watkins (3-10-2007)

St Aug Pier Vertical Glass by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

St Aug Pier Vertical Glass

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Reflections On A Question Not Asked (JHWatkins)

I would not worship nature,
but
watch the firestorms
of evening Eden’s
colliding with collars of stars,
bordering the spreading blankets...
flowing......floating on mist.

Here deep spells
speak to rising hearts
of early years... tears...
and beginnings,
failed then
flourishing
in fading light.

Many the meetings in mirrors,
Reflection souls,
Broken and healed,
Sing out, having heard the cry
Wishing, then wondering-
Then washed by
colors of the night.

I would not worship nature
but cry quietly at
whispers of deep dreamy forests
drumming with wooden warmth
lost in caverns,
ascending in autumns,
forsaken in fragments
and
flames of the glowing day.

Come softer than nature,
with wounded revelations,
Waves of somber subtle summers,
winters, and springs-
Come straighter and stronger,
on strict lines of deft decisions
resting by quietest waters
of heart streams
that have come home
to the
fountain of the universe.

James Watkins 12-31-08

East Rim Spires at Sunset by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

East Rim Spires at Sunset

Better Viewed Large-A touch of sunset on the Eastern Rim just inside the Park gates. A much quieter experience than the main entrance with unique views of the canyon walls at sun up and sunset, along with a dramatic perspective on the Colorado River way down at the bottom. You really lose perspective of distance when observing because of how large and high the canyon walls are, plus how far away the bottom is from the rim.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-
pillars standing tall-
piercing passioned histories-
hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-
caverns large and small-
mutant molten metal streams-
fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-
cooling chasmed halls-
dinosaurs and diamond doors
in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices
in paradisian sprawl-
fiery fumes of purity-
creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,
soiled, synthetic signs.
righteous restoration
of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-
tempestuous-
waning, wasted pearl-
forethought, full and fragile-
foundation of the world.

hidden in the language
of nature’s cresting yore-
cracked beneath
the stress and strain-
crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-
wiggling in the storm-
recipes and remedies-
chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-
brooding-steaming-scorn-
clashing reams of violent schemes-
valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,
scrambled eggs at last-
gushing geysered marbled mud
borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,
syncopated scuds-
bothered by the missing mass-
baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-
the barn is nearly full-
the hay is neatly in a stack-
this baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,
full circle’s come at last.
see the story in the hills-
yield before your past.

something’s broken,
something’s missing,
something’s come and gone-
something’s at the doorway-
someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-
someone’s on the floor-
someone’s grass
is full of gas-
classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,
balancing the board-
signals of a sequenced strike,
calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,
when looking at the past.
the scene is somewhat circular,
when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,
dance before your lord.
the gift of grace is growing cold
squirming on the sword.

commentaried cavemen,
come into the fold.
your ears can hear-
your eyes can see-
so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-
to knowledge held in store.
fashioned in the faceless stone
of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,
the battle rages on-
raving reverence in reverse
its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-
the courtroom is restored,
through judgment passed,
the script is cast,
in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-
your statement’s on the floor-
and advertise what you surmise-
from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-
and touched your maker’s hand,
in timeless thought-
before the fault-
and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-
from eons vile and vast-
to bless-ed end
the future bends,
with glory
unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

Bright Angel Trail Final Light by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Bright Angel Trail Final Light

Better Viewed Large-Bright Angel Trail from the Southern Rim is one of the more magnificent features of the main entrance. This trail seen from literally miles above. Donkeys and people can barely be seen as small dots from this distance. The point of the trail in the distance is an overlook to the canyon floor where the Colorado River is running. From THAT point it is still miles down to the bottom. I took that trip on foot in my younger days in the middle of the summer. It is no small feat.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

STANDING ON THE PRECIPICE

Standing on the precipice,
Balanced at junctions,
Space and time-
There are no excuses here,
No explanations or rhymes.

Locked in lavish rhythm,
Far beyond the brink,
Hid from help or rescue,
On jagged edge distinct.

Weighty voices,
Tomorrows bearing,
Form forces by the day…
Wound tight
In folds of failure,
By faltering historic foray.

Naked standing truth,
Whirl winded and filleted,
Open now,
Body bleeding,
Clean by choice,
Ruthless rights parlayed.

Ring round the
Restless righteous,
Tormented tongues
Twisted and advanced-
Weapons trained,
Fitting filled,
Hopelessness entranced.

New toys
For large little boys,
Clicking clocks
In finest fashion.
Positioned perspective,
Poisoned possessive power,
From places unimagined.

Whining women,
Worn-out white wheezers,
Talking days on end,
Tortured trials
Of wasted words,
Useless air
Precious spent.

Children torn
Apart at seams,
Families drugged
And drenched…
Callous toned nightmares
Running wild,
Seeds scattered in the wind.

Lost by generation’s
Darkened doubt,
Aflame the fearless world,
Tossed aside in hellish schemes,
Now rampant,
Flags unfurled.

Gone the green
And yearning years,
Foundations fairly laid,
Of priceless pearl
In wisdom grown,
Crown jewelry
On parade.

But new
The turning earth begins,
Choice
Once again delayed.
Come cold and calm
Courageous men-
Run boldly to
Your fate.

And stand in
Earnest errand bare,
An era
At the end,
To bind yourselves
Betrothed and braced,
And finish
Without fear.

James Watkins (3-10-2007)

Moultrie Creek Winter Sunset by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Moultrie Creek Winter Sunset

Better Viewed Large. Moultrie Creek just south of St Augustine, Fl about a block from my home. This is the municipal dock there at sunset. I love the warm colors of the winter sunset skies in Florida along with the soft light of early evening. The is a creek leading into the Inter Coastal Waterway that goes north and south all the way up the eastern coast of the US.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Creation Spoke to Me at Sunset
(James Watkins)

Creation spoke to me at sunset,
under canopy of fading sight,
in groves of winded whispers,
ancient oaks waiting for the night.

Sun-bathed clouds through
dazzling leaves,
dazed and dancing free-
brilliant evening glories,
rhymed in poignant harmony.

Sequined, fragranced beauties-
set in ocean dreams-
softly magnified by waters,
running slow to salty streams.

Lingering beside them,
to breathe the evening sea,
i listened to the placid voice
that feathered on the breeze.

“Remember what you see here-
do not forget this place-
write it on your memory-
do not let time erase”-

a victory won in silence-
as patience conquered haste-
foundation-ed now
in sacred soil,
solidified and safe.

Still delving deep through solid sod,
continuing to bend,
beneath the ground
it rooted down,
to build its strength again.

Did not begin to prosper,
until its hold was right-
then slowly grew in majesty,
upward to the light.

To flourish for
a thousand years,
before the sons of men-
and quietly tell its story,
to all that pass within.
.
James Watkins 05-07

Moose Lake In Canadian Rockies by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Moose Lake In Canadian Rockies

Better Large-Between Jasper, Alberta and Mount Robson (the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies) we were driving by this beautiful, crystal clear lake and had to stop and shoot. The water is green because of the minerals (especially sulfur-it stinks) that runs off of the adjoining mountain when it rains and snows. This rendition is really close to what we actually saw as evidenced by the color of the evergreen (spruce?cedar?) trees. They are the correct color, as is the sky...so that gives you a good reference point.

Also note that the rocks in the foreground...the whole foreground for that matter...is UNDERWATER...about 4 feet under, thus a little fuzzy. The water was so clear when still that you could see right through it! Nearby Mt Robson was beautiful as we approached it with a summer snow covered peak, but by the time the camera was mounted/set up the whole peak was under a canopy of clouds...so no good shots there.

The Canadian Rockies are very unique...not at all like like the Rockies down in Colorado, which are more massive. These mountains remind me of pictures of the European mountains like the Alps or Pyrenees. There are some similar peaks in the Rockies/Cascades/Coastal Range transitions approaching Seattle and around Coeur D'Alene, Idaho. They smell like a cedar closet, but remind me of being in a Spearmint Land from childhood somewhere. Anyway, they are unique and just as beautiful as the US Rockies. The drive down from Jasper, Alberta through British Columbia to Seattle is amazing! I will get back here...hopefully soon!
FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK <a href=" www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762... .



Mountains (James Watkins)

mountains grand and gazing-
pillars standing tall-
piercing passioned histories-
hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-
caverns large and small-
mutant molten metal steams-
fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-
cooling chasmed halls-
dinosaurs and diamond doors
in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices
in paradisian sprawl-
fiery fumes of purity-
creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,
soiled, synthetic signs.
righteous restoration
of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-
tempestuous-
waning, wasted pearl-
forethought, full and fragile-
foundation of the world.

hidden in the language
of nature’s cresting yore-
cracked beneath
the stress and strain-
crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-
wiggling in the storm-
recipes and remedies-
chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-
brooding-steaming-scorn-
clashing reams of violent schemes-
valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,
scrambled eggs at last-
gushing geysered marbled mud
borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,
syncopated scuds-
bothered by the missing mass-
baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-
the barn is nearly full-
the hay is neatly in a stack-
this baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,
full circle’s come at last.
see the story in the hills-
yield before your past.

something’s broken,
something’s missing,
something’s come and gone-
something’s at the doorway-
someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-
someone’s on the floor-
someone’s grass
is full of gas-
classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,
balancing the board-
signals of a sequenced strike,
calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,
when looking at the past.
the scene is somewhat circular,
when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,
dance before your lord.
the gift of grace is growing cold
squirming on sword.

commentaried cavemen,
come into the fold.
your ears can hear-
your eyes can see-
so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-
to knowledge held in store.
fashioned in the faceless stone
of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,
the battle rages on-
raving reverence in reverse
its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-
the courtroom is restored,
through judgment passed,
the script is cast,
in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-
your statement’s on the floor-
and advertise what you surmise-
from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-
and touched your maker’s hand,
in timeless thought-
before the fault-
and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-
from eons vile and vast-
to bless-ed end
the future bends,
with glory
unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

Redwood Tops by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Redwood Tops

This is the first time that I have been proud to post my pictures of the Redwoods. It has been so hard to get the bright light and dark shadows right. HDR has really made it a lot easier. Some things are better non HDR...not these beautiful trees. It is the only easy way to capture the large swings in the high dynamic range during daylight hours...and bring out/justify what the floor of the forests really look like when standing in them.

These massive trees can live to be a thousand years old...and were just about made extinct before individuals and the Fed stepped in to save the remaining groves. They are most prominent in Northern California and Southern Oregon...though smaller groves and isolated trees are found much further south and north.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

Every Season Has Its Own Glory (JHWatkins)

Every season has its own glory,
Every purpose has its own time,
Every moment has its own story,
Every story has its own line.

I have walked deep into cities,
Shining brightly never to fail,
Listened to heart cries,
Lost in the morning,
Standing on corners
Stagnant and stale.

Where is the hope
That brought forth the laughter?
Where is the song?
The music unveiled?
Why are the choices so
Wasted and bitter?
Gathered in hatred,
Broken and pale.

I have seen (new) stars on the mountains,
Fed on the movement of heaven and earth-
Fired by the framework
Of perfect perspective,
Fueled by the turning of terrible truth.

Come now and sing of mists in the forest,
Sensual sonnets of songs in the dirt-
Come and behold the delicate balance
Of seasons and reasons and rhythms
And birth.

There are the voices lost in confusion,
Crushed in the thriving, deepening swale-
Calloused and cold the circling convenience,
Crippled commotion emotions prevail.

Beacons in quiet of last true performance,
Heralded nature in singular cause-
Perfect and pure
Though wasted and slandered.
Washed by confession
In smoldering awe.

Severed connections, squandered projections-
Revered reflections by stammering tongues-
Coined by controlling contriving convections,
In different directions now written in stone.

Now is the time to look to the heavens,
Now is the moment to take up the cause,
Now is the voice of blazing amazement,
Borne on the winds of the gathering storm.

Listen to stream, listen to forest,
Listen to flower, and staggering fawn-
Listen to voices rolling like thunder,
Come drink of the waters
And dance with the dawn.

Wrapped in the garments of natural beauty,
Facing the force of the burgeoning call-
Strong in the seasons of life and creation,
Firm on foundations that never will fall.

James Watkins 09-01-08

Blue Mountain Nevada by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Blue Mountain Nevada

Best seen large...Took this shot after an amazing day of riding the gravel mountain roads for about 25 miles in Nevada up near Winnemucca. There are so many beautiful unexplored (by me) places in this beautiful country…and we seem to find a new one each week as we travel around with Fed Ex Custom Critical (owner/operators.) This mountain is part of the Humboldt Range and the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Shot here after a brief snow storm. I wanted to capture the clouds and light! Black and White for detail…color for impact!

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

There Is No Sorrow In The Grave
(JHWatkins 2/6/10)

There is no sorrow in the grave,
Only victory when death is overcome.
There is no strife where suffering
And shallow mourning are stopped
And stayed.

In living we press and battle on,
Where mercy alone can repair,
Or redeem lost cause,
The innocent crushed, or
The wounded soul in despair.

The battle may give hope,
Moving on and through,
To path where sunlight plays,
A bright day’s dawn,
Swift and strong,
In brief haven rest delays.

To bring us fact to face,
From here we must begin,
To right the wrong
We must have done,
To bring us round again.

And with mercy’s mirror,
That which has been given
Again and again-
Freely pass the blessing on-
Though duly won
By perseverance and pain.

Without return or favor gained,
Grant that which we did not,
Or in our time did not restrain-
A heavenly gift tendered-
And A Life-
Regained!

(JHWatkins 02-06-2010)


Mountains (JHWatkins)

mountains grand and gazing-
pillars standing tall-
piercing passioned histories-
hidden in their walls.

delving downward distances-
caverns large and small-
mutant molten metal steams-
fused before the fall.

decant demon-ed destinies-
cooling chasmed halls-
dinosaurs and diamond doors
in massive mirrored malls.

heavy, heaving voices
in paradisian sprawl-
fiery fumes of purity-
creation’s curtain call.

subatomic saturation,
soiled, synthetic signs.
righteous restoration
of prehistoric crimes.

tumultuous-
tempestuous-
waning, wasted pearl-
forethought, full and fragile-
foundation of the world.

hidden in the language
of nature’s cresting yore-
cracked beneath
the stress and strain-
crumbling at the core.

tiny tidbits torn and tumbling-
wiggling in the storm-
recipes and remedies-
chemically reborn.

thickened soups and swirling haze-
brooding-steaming-scorn-
clashing reams of violent schemes-
valleys ripped and torn.

balance within balances,
scrambled eggs at last-
gushing geysered marbled mud
borne before the blast.

consciences of scientists,
syncopated scuds-
bothered by the missing mass-
baffled by the blood.

leaping lemon lizards-
the barn is nearly full-
the hay is neatly in a stack-
this baby’s come full term!

common commonalities,
full circle’s come at last.
see the story in the hills-
yield before your past.

something’s broken,
something’s missing,
something’s come and gone-
something’s at the doorway-
someone’s on the phone.

someone’s at the table-
someone’s on the floor-
someone’s grass
is full of gas-
classical-and more!

rhyming with the timing,
balancing the board-
signals of a sequenced strike,
calm before the storm.

mysteries are meaningful,
when looking at the past.
the scene is somewhat circular,
when stage is come to last.

weakened, muzzled monkeys,
dance before your lord.
the gift of grace is growing cold
squirming on sword.

commentaried cavemen,
come into the fold.
your ears can hear-
your eyes can see-
so come in from the cold.

and listen with some latitude-
to knowledge held in store.
fashioned in the faceless stone
of ancient ocean floor.

squeezed in myriad molecule,
the battle rages on-
raving reverence in reverse
its relevance reformed.

and bow before the evidence-
the courtroom is restored,
through judgment passed,
the script is cast,
in elementary score.

rain fire, you veined volcanoes-
your statement’s on the floor-
and advertise what you surmise-
from secret silent store.

you’ve waltzed in dazzled wonderment-
and touched your maker’s hand,
in timeless thought-
before the fault-
and listened to the plan.

to bring all things to unity-
from eons vile and vast-
to bless-ed end
the future bends,
with glory
unsurpassed.

James Watkins May 2005

Light Between Redwoods by JamesWatkins

© JamesWatkins, all rights reserved.

Light Between Redwoods

This is the first time that I have been proud to post my pictures of the Redwoods. It has been so hard to get the bright light and dark shadows right. HDR has really made it a lot easier. Some things are better non HDR...not these beautiful trees. It is the only easy way to capture the large swings in the high dynamic range during daylight hours...and bring out/justify what the floor of the forests really look like when standing in them.

These massive trees can live to be a thousand years old...and were just about made extinct before individuals and the Fed stepped in to save the remaining groves. They are most prominent in Northern California and Southern Oregon...though smaller groves and isolated trees are found much further south and north.

FOR THOSE INTERESTED I HAVE AN EXHIBITION AT THIS LINK www.flickr.com/groups/inspiringcollection/discuss/7215762...

What Good Are Trees (J.H. Watkins)

What good are trees,
If I miss the heart that spun the seed,
That dreamed the dream,
That danced nuclear in first fiery moments,
Before colors collided on patterns woven in atomic autumns
And stardust stellar stadiums of wintry dawns-

When moons rose only on waters that stilled the night,
That reflected the light that ended eras,
That moved the mountains,
Before the oceans swept canyons clean of crust
And prepared tables for grasses to grow?

What good are wings,
If wonder does not take flight,
Where wild woods bear the broken breath of winds,
That hang soft in southern summers,
Where soaring birds draft
Towering tides of unseen waves
Riding currents, swirling in springs of hope,
Hidden in hills, that no one knows?

What good is hope
That shares nothing in conception,
And wonders without warm witness in cold stolen hours,
Longing in lonely moments, that come only once,
Heave hot and holy breath for seconds,
Then pass without planting or gathering
From the soil of life and the strength of tears
That know the awe of this moment’s birth?


J.H. Watkins 01-09 3